


One Night, Two Bites

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [48]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of the Department of Mysteries, F/F, Smut, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione played around with Magic.Bellatrix plays around with Hermione.---Or; Hermione is quite needy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 37
Kudos: 397





	One Night, Two Bites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drD/gifts), [intheinkpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheinkpot/gifts), [beforeyouspeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeyouspeak/gifts), [CesarioWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CesarioWriter/gifts).



> For the crazies linked as Gifted to. Because otherwise I would never have written this.
> 
> Lightly-Edited.

Of course it happened to her. Of course it was slated to begin that day, that night, that first little bit of a week of madness. And of course there would be nothing at all for her to do except run along with her  _ friend’s _ little harebrained schemes. 

Of course she would end up trying not to fall down onto her knees and frig herself raw in the back corner of some deserted hallway.

The masterfully crafted magic of a Time-Turner, and time magic in general, made for a perfect method by which she could learn all that she wanted, as fast as she wanted. The other side of that meant that days continued to pile up. Add up. Roll and turn, weeks turning into months.

Months turning into years.

When she first received the object she had been warned, as sternly as old Professor McGonagall could manage, that the device would only turn her back for four hours. Four hours had been deemed safe by the Ministry and vetted as thoroughly as the Department of Mysteries could do so. Those four hours were built into the device itself, locked up and keyed such that no one should have ever been able to turn it back any bit more.

Unfortunately -  _ for them, and not for her, _ \- it appeared that no one had ever thought to turn it once and then turn it again after they found themselves sent backwards. Sure, it made it harder for her to ignore copies of herself. Sure, it made it much more difficult to not show up at the same place after only just leaving, after only just speaking to someone and then wandering down the other side of a hall.

When it did happen? Well, she told them it was magic, and that was that.

But soon enough -  _ relative to the real world, and not her topsy-turvy wonderland of backtracked clocks _ \- she realized her error. She realized she still  _ aged. _ She grew and grew, fuller and taller and  _ faster _ than anyone else. The world turned on without her, and she turned ever faster.

Until finally it happened. Until finally, and with no fanfare or enjoyment from Hermione herself, she presented.

Her only saving grace was that it happened  _ after _ the absolute nonsense that encompassed her dear Professor Lupin, and Harry’s mad encounter with Pettigrew.

_ Three years! _ Three whole years had passed her by over the span of months, three years flying by with all the whirling glitter of the device looped around her neck. Three years early, according to the mashed up timeline that she found herself in once Dumbledore took back the Turner for good. 

He made a face, bemused and knowing.

She made a face, horrified and confused.

The world was opened up to her after that night, those hours spent pawing at her body with as much confusion as mistimed lust. Magic flooded in, bathed her core, released what it determined to be  _ her. _ It was, admittedly, a confusing time. There were far too few Seventh Years who had presented by that time, and all of her Professors kept their status cleverly hidden beneath a bevvy of medications, potions, and a few very well-placed Charms.

There was no one for her to pull information from, no one except her books and her studies and while they  _ were _ informative, they were lacking in that personal touch that would have made it easier on her. She was, due to her own mistakes, outed and left to squirm beneath the knowing gaze of anyone else who had already presented, and anyone her age who  _ knew _ those telltale signs from family or friends. She needed special care, special instruction, a girl ostensibly but a woman now in physical age and all her paperwork.

The dressing down she received from McGonagall was Hell, pure and simple. But the comfort she received when her emotions all came crashing down was just what she needed. Leave it to an older Alpha to sense distress, and offer care where it was needed.

Just another reason the Professor was consistently at the top of her favourites list.

And in the end, it worked. Or rather she managed to wind herself all about the new intricacies of her life in a way that didn’t leave her feeling too out of sorts. Certainly her life was awkward now, so different and  _ alien _ to her family. The one thing she had held onto with a fever grip was wrenched away from her with the new reality of her biology. That divide between them, that gulf which spanned from one species to another.

It was massive. Too much. Her parents could never truly understand what she had grown into, could never rationalize that their little princess was different even besides the inclusion of magic. They tried as much as they could, as much as her seclusion for one week out of every month allowed her.

Red-faced, left scandalized when they asked her why every article of clothing that she had loved was exchanged for seven days with sheer, thin fabric. Why she was sweating, flushed, shivering whenever she walked around.

_ And she had the benefit of suppression! _ She could hardly imagine how someone would go about this without any form of comfort, anything at all to help hold the madness back.

Blank faces, questioning eyes. Curious looks whenever she came down, knowing minds who had  _ some _ idea what was happening when their daughter escaped upstairs and the loud droning sounds that filtered down despite the presence of what they had been assured were silencing wards.

Her parents were Muggles, but not stupid.

It was ridiculous to the extreme. Annoying, but not so much that she couldn’t function. It was too early of a presentation, too much too fast, and it made her life just that little bit harder. Not too hard, not so hard that she couldn’t function but hard enough that she felt she could whine and cry and not feel her emotions to be overblown in the slightest.

She managed it all, somehow.

She lived her life for two more -  _ blessedly straightforward and un-sped up _ \- years.

Right up until that bloody night, and Harry’s ridiculous idea.

She had been ready to take her suppressant that night, the thin and rather mealy potion that Professor Snape had taught her -  _ begrudgingly _ \- that first month after her presentation. She was to take that potion, retreat to her bed, and pull the curtains shut. Her note was already prepared and all her teachers knew of her situation. No one would mind the absence, and she would still finish all her assignments on time. 

But Harry, the absolute dunderhead that he was, decided  _ now _ was the time to run off and delve into the Ministry.  _ And he roped her into the ridiculous scheme! _

In some moment of luck, he had managed to corner her before she headed off to her bed. He sprinted to her right before the blazing heat could turn into gruelling pain and unmanageable lust. There was no time for her to down the potion, no time to search her trunk for the pills that she had created the month before, and nothing at all for her to do except run Dolores off on a goose chase.

That the Centaurs all stood upwind of her was certainly an annoying little bit of confirmation towards her difference. It spoke more to a deliberate distaste for what she was, rather than some respect towards her condition. They  _ knew, _ they  _ avoided, _ and in turn she chuffed and stamped her feet like some petulant child while they looked at her with disgust in their eyes.

It didn’t help that she knew exactly what they would do to the woman, Alpha or no. She knew what the Centaurs would do to  _ her, _ should she manage to anger them in much the same way.

She didn’t. Wouldn’t. Made sure to watch her language and be as respectful as possible. Soon enough they were off once again, now secure atop the backs of creatures that she couldn’t even see.

Off towards a trap. 

There could be no other way to describe what they were walking into. Harry’s vision was just too fortuitous to have been anything at all except a poorly disguised honeypot.

And he fell for it.

She was right, because of course she was. She was hurting, because of course she was. And before anything could kickoff, before anyone could stop her, she broke. Off she ran, sprinting as much as jogging, feet carrying her forward down row after row of bluish orbs. She looked for somewhere far enough away that she could do something about the almighty burning that was now taking residence in her body. Those heavy shakes and hitches in her breath were making travel painful, sending her lurching forward and ricocheting off the walls as the true and unmitigated strength of her heat finally came down.

That blasted, neverending heat. It was heavy as it wormed itself throughout her limbs, down into her veins and flooding the space between her legs that was the core of that furnace. Wet heat pounded along in time with her heartbeat, sent blood rushing and pounding against her ears. She could  _ smell _ something that lay along the periphery of the room, the scent and liquid feel of an Alpha that had once passed by. They were a worker, no doubt, and long gone by the time she stumbled past a marking of their scent.

It made her need worse. It threw off the whispers of her rational mind, knocked out any remaining thought that she  _ should _ be back there, helping Harry. A new mind took its place, one focused on one thing and one thing only. Old Hermione had done her part, had helped her friend with Umbridge, and had given him her opinion on this escapade.

This whole thing was a trap, he was being a dolt, and Sirius was likely still at Grimmauld with no issues at all to speak of besides that dull little Elf. If he needed this all just to prove to himself that his hero-fetish was worth it, then fine. 

_ New _ Hermione wanted this heat to go away.  _ New _ Hermione would just be wandering over down this now abandoned hallway, reflexively trying to keep this budding heat-addled insanity from overpowering her.

It was, rather unfortunately, quite close to taking hold of all her faculties regardless of the hand now shoved down the front of her pants. It was soon to be overpowering despite the quick fingers, or the slickness that poured forth.

She had never once needed to undergo her heat while unassisted. Never once had she found herself debased to lesser instincts, alone and needing to deal with whatever Wizardkind really were. Never once had she found herself alone, left to fend for herself over any length of time, no suppressant to help her along.

Magical, mundane, improvised and aided by medicines and potions or magic. She didn’t know the magic that could help her. It was just something she hadn’t looked into, too disgusted with letting herself get here in the first place.

The last line of defence was gone.

And now she suffered Hell for it. It was a blinding need, it was an orgasm that crashed down upon her with moans shuffling from her throat and muscles all clenching in hatred when her body realised that she was empty. Unlocked, barren of anything that could have given her true pleasure.

Her body  _ hated _ that and sought instead to conspire and bring pain in its lacking stead.

It didn’t  _ really _ hurt. The old Hermione could recognize that. Knew she wouldn’t end up dying from this, wouldn’t fall over and suddenly find that she needed to visit a hospital. But  _ new _ Hermione was aware that there would be a price for this lack of a companion. A wave of flushed anger was building, her body betraying the desires of a rational mind in its search for what it truly wanted.

Hell, if all the Purebloods were all so bloody resolved to avoid any intermingling with Halfbloods or Muggleborns, she could see why they would turn so often towards incest and shared blood. Who wouldn’t, especially if it could manage to still the desperate need that filled their heads and burned their loins.

So it was that soon enough she found herself hidden away, cloistered off in a room somewhere deep within the Department of Mysteries. One portion of her thoughts was devoted toward hoping that Harry’s plan didn’t backfire, while another -  _ and by far the larger, _ \- portion of her thoughts was devoted towards remaining undiscovered by any interlopers as she found somewhere to settle in and deal with the blasted heat that poured and swirled beneath her skin.

It was a small room that she had found, a space unlocked and carpeted within a thin sheet of fabric that would have seemed far more at home among some Muggle office-building rather than somewhere mysterious in the Ministry. The walls were white, bare of any decoration, holding against them only a few bookshelves that were pitifully filled and a table wedged into a corner. A chair lay pushed beneath it, everything was locked up, and if there was anything of interest then she was certainly missing it. 

Not that she cared. Old Hermione would have, New Hermione was devoted towards her heat. The desperate flush beneath her beltline was far more interesting, far too urgent for her to ignore.

Mysteries or no, she could not wait.

\---

Bellatrix was fucking ecstatic. Enthused beyond belief, positively crawling up the walls in blind anticipation. Tonight, tonight was  _ the _ night! Finally, the moment that they had chosen for their strike, the moment they would begin to fight back against the bastards of the Ministry, of Dumbledore, fight back and make them  _ pay. _

And here she was, chosen to walk at the front of the pack, chosen to join in on the mayhem and sow discord wherever she walked. It was almost too much for her to contain. If she managed to luck out on this? If she held it all together, did well and please her Master?

Well. If that happened she would catch that pimply brat, prove herself well enough that her Master would overlook the mistakes of her sisters, raise her from where she had fallen. Shine a light, perhaps, on Lucius’s ridiculous behaviour and perhaps even earn his death.

She wasn’t counting on that happening though. She couldn’t really, not with how well-loved he was by all the simpletons that looked up to him. Her opinions were all deemed useless, her ideas all old and wanting. So she would need to win this, in some form or fashion. Take the boy, spirit him away and back to the Manor.

A prize, alone and all hers.

Alone, even if by the lingering smells in the hallway she could tell that she was not, in fact, alone. Not anymore at least. Not now that she had managed to wander off and down a hallway that seemed just the same as any other  _ but was not. _ It must have been a fit of madness that led her here, where no one else would walk and no one else would visit. The Department of Mysteries was known for its ridiculousness, for the insanity that they cooked up and random accidents that left witches and wizards scoured from the annals of history forevermore.

Why had she wandered here? 

Did it matter? Probably not. 

But that  _ smell. _ That scent mattered to her, that barest hint on the breeze that filtered through. It was fruity, ripe, contaminated with the scent of old books, and something that might have been musky or could have been the mold that covered ancient tomes. Faded pages, an ink that had long since dried up and nearly faded.

She sniffed at the air when it came again, head held high and frenzied eyes peering all about herself.

Black stones met her gaze, cold marble and hallways that were as much passages in a maze as they were ordered walkways from one department to another. But this branch was different. It lay off from her ultimate objective like a rail tied parallel to another, the room holding jars of brains along her left and the hall that kept safe all the prophecies to her right.  _ Something _ was before her, somewhere down the line, dark and cold and strangely calling as she stood there and turned about.

That scent was a stronger lure than the hope of capturing her prey before they managed to find the prophecy.

Was it the boy? Had she scented him out, had magic seen fit to light her way?

Two objectives were on hand, one where she knew she should locate the boy and steal him away, and the other where she knew that their Master wanted that damnable prophecy brought to him.

He was  _ so _ up in arms over that damned orb. Bellatrix, not so much. She held to no illusions of precognition. They were all old words, uttered and flamed by charlatans and hags that all held the same hope of being famous one day. They predicted the end of days, predicted birth and death or which team would end up winning the next Quidditch World Cup.

_ Silly _ things. The sort of things that could capture some layman’s attention and seem, for all the world, to be real.

She just couldn’t believe in that bunk. Hadn’t, not now and not ever. But so long as her Master held to those mystics she would follow his orders as best as she could. Why not? Why fight it? It wasn’t as if her disobedience would ever win her any points, and if he needed something done then she was the witch for the job. 

Unless that job happened to be remaining with the pack, and not heading off down a lonely hallway towards whoever knew what had found her interest.

Except that she  _ did _ know what it was, once she meandered just a little bit farther. It was heat. It was  _ someone _ in heat. It was a woman in heat if she were claiming to be that precise. And the confirmation in the air, oh how that changed things. A proper and true heat was something that she hadn’t been witness to for many years, not since long before she was locked away in Azkaban. That prison managed to eat away at the part of them that gave rise to those heats, omegathose ruts, stole it all and locked up every portion. They had no need for pills or potions, not somewhere even the neediest Omega would be dry and cold all month long.

Whatever or whoever it was, she found herself off track. Pulled away towards something that called deeply to that inner portion of her core. All the others in their merry band of death were Alphas, each of them bred and born for the glory of their Family. She and Alecto were the only women of the bunch, the only female Alphas who were allowed to sit with that inner group. All Alphas, all led by who she assumed to be an Omega. It was an odd presentation but she was certain that their Master was no Beta, he simply couldn’t be something so bland and ineffectual as that. Neither was he an Alpha or at least if he was he managed to be the only one that couldn’t set off her jealous instincts, or her need to compete and come out as the top dog. There was no rivalry with her Master, not like the ones she engaged in with the remainder of his inner circle.

But none of that really mattered. It passed her mind as an errant thought, only to be squashed and shuffled out when that glorious scent captured her attention yet again. There was  _ someone _ down here, someone fresh, someone recently entered into their heat and so very close to being overtaken by their shared inhumanity.

Wizardkind, secreted away and then forced by Magic to be something it was not. The Statute of Secrecy had been forced upon them, and then forced them, changed them, moulded to fit Magic’s needs and not their own. 

_ Gave _ them needs, even.

And now she was here, alone, following the perfectly delectable scent of an Omega in the middle of their heat, no one else around them and no one following her trail. And the Omega was compatible, by the scent. Ready to receive, if she were sniffing out all the details correctly.

No suppression.

And close. Close enough that she turned, more on instinct than conscious thought, and sniffed the air that passed through a small little door off to her right. She grinned, all fangs and terror, a hand upon the knob and the metal slowly turning in her hand.

A feast spread out before her, and Bellatrix stiffened.

\---

Hermione was nearly placid in her contentment. Recovering as she fell, body rolling down from the insane high of her orgasm and mumbling pleasant nothings. No suppression made for a lovely moment all to herself, it was all that she could think about really. She had never ever been one who sought out worldly pleasure for the pleasure alone. Never one to explore herself during her first puberty, despite the shaded thoughts that crossed her mind and the budding interest in her dormmates. 

But now?

Now, without any form of suppression and deep within the throes of her heat, she was gone. Given over to new biology and reacting on instinct alone. Instinct that seemed set to reward her fascinated exploration, no longer shackled to muted emotions and that once rational mind.

She received honey in return for her efforts, pleasure unbounded by morality and Muggle physiology.

She felt  _ good. _

But it was not enough.

The hand stuck between her legs was at it again, pants were long forgotten on the floor and knickers along with them. Fingers moved with impatient swiftness, a hardened bud of nerves and flesh pulled taught, pinched harshly and then caressed with all the maddened care of a heat-starved bitch.

The door to the room opened, and for a moment she thought it odd. She  _ had _ come here for a reason, she presumed. Couldn’t remember, couldn’t tell anyone exactly why she was here, alone, when all she wanted was an Alpha. But still, she found it odd.

A woman entered, and  _ again  _ she found it odd. So much, so odd. A different odd, odd in that she could  _ smell _ the woman, could  _ taste _ her. 

Except the woman was over  _ there _ and not  _ here _ and she was  _ not _ enjoying that.

She felt so much like she was drunk. Felt as if she had snuck away a bottle of her father’s favourite bourbon and then downed damned hear half the thing. Felt much as if she were swimming, buoyant on her emotions and her need, left to float in disconnected space.

She felt  _ need. _

Darkened hair that twisted and looped, curls of black and some that were grey but beautiful all the same. Pale skin, corpse coloured yet warm in places so that Hermione knew she was alive and not a vision of some ruin. Heavy eyes that held silver orbs, a beauty that called to her, that beckoned her to stare up in wonderment and confusion.

This was an Alpha, Hermione could smell her, Hermione  _ needed _ her. A female Alpha, and all the more sensual for that fact.

Hermione mouthed at the air, tasted it with a flitting tongue that peaked from bitten lips. Her nostrils flared while she filled her chest with that scent, that lovely, maddening scent. She  _ drank _ in the intruder, noticed and boxed away the  _ knowing _ of who this was.

She would recognize that scent anywhere, any time, from here on ever-after.

She smelled of pine, of trees and the forest that housed them. The dirt, wet from a fresh rain and bleeding with life and beauty. Ash that came from fire, from coals long burned and rising smoke that could fill your morning with a smile. Charcoal, something spiced, something that pricked at her nose in all the best ways. It was lovely. It was dangerous. 

To the descended portion of her rational mind, it was beautiful. To her risen instincts, it was glorious.

To that aroused little part of her, it was desire. Pure and simple desire. An owner. Someone to fuck her, to claim her, to dig teeth into her and mark her with  _ ownership. _

The woman enraptured her in the best way, in the only way that she could handle. The hand between her legs paused, resumed, faltered as she stared. The free hand reached out and made a grabbing motion, all the effort that she was capable of pushed into that movement.

“Alpha,” she uttered, mind drawn down towards simple words and phrases that concretely expressed her burning need. “Alpha!” she whispered, explained in silence. The word was slurred and fast and quiet and harsh, it  _ needed _ much as she did.

Needed the Alpha, the woman standing there, someone who was new and sensual and staring down at her with bright concentration behind her pretty eyes. It could have been bemusement and might have even been that in the beginning, but Hermione could tell that as the seconds dragged on she too was falling to her baser self.

Hermione wanted that beast to rise. She wanted to be fucked, to be filled up and used to within an inch of her life until whatever burning fire within her was sputtered and smothered into bare embers. She wanted  _ something _ inside of her, and she wanted it  **_now._ **

“Oh Pet, whatever do we have here? You’re a flighty looking thing, aren’t you?” the woman across from Hermione was speaking in a hushed but gravely tone, her look turning from bemusement and toward something harsh. Her eyes half shut, the door shut behind her, and Hermione could see the moment that she was truly captured into her overheating orbit.

Hermione didn’t know who this woman was. She had no clue, no idea, no reason at all to care about her whatsoever. But she was Alpha, was  _ an _ Alpha, and had the means with which to soothe that restructured need nestled deep within her belly. Except that the woman was still standing there still as a statue.

Not moving. Not disrobing. Not fucking her.

Hermione growled something low and deep within her throat, something that was filled with as much emphasis as she could pump out. She needed something from this woman, from this Alpha, and if it took her begging and cajoling to receive it, she would.

“Come, come please, please help!” Words that made no true sense were fleeing from her throat. A string of them if she could tell correctly, if she were aware enough to understand. And it kept going. She kept pleading. The same thing, over and over, a few words replaced or moved around but fundamentally the same.

All while she started to move her hand again, pinched herself again, rubbed slickness between her thighs and keened for something a bit more powerful than her fingers.

The woman approached, and Hermione purred.

\---

Bellatrix was, in the same moment, confused and happy. She was also minutely wondering whether or not this was a trap.

A treat? Or a trick?

Had Lucius set this all up? Had he made sure that there would be  _ something _ that could distract her, something that could circumvent her helping them or stealing all the glory? Had he left this pretty little thing here for her?

If he had, she would be sure to thank him for his graciousness with a knife down his gullet.

Later.

Not now.

Later, for here was something that she was wanting much more than any glory. Her Master could fuck off about a tree for all she cared, for here was what she  _ now _ wanted. A woman for her to take, and a woman was what she was. Eighteen? Nineteen? Maybe just a little bit older, fresh and  _ needing. _

She could not hold herself back once she took a lungful of that air, pure and unfiltered through the door or around the hallway outside. It was a sweet aroma that rolled off her in waves of lust. Instinct was a truly powerful thing, and while Bellatrix knew that she  _ had _ a job to do she also  _ knew _ that this here was someone who wanted her, addled by heat or no.

The woman reached out her hand once again, opened and closed her fingers, beckoned her as much as she could. Grasping at the air, pulling at her shirt, a pained look on her face that instinct demanded Bellatrix to address. She was powerless to her lesser self and powerless to care about that. She just couldn’t ignore it. Wouldn’t be allowed to do so now. That dark beast inside her chest was out of its cage and prowling around her head. It told her not to leave.

So she didn’t.

\----

Instead of doing what she should have done, Bellatrix moved forward. Instead of leaving and forgetting this encounter she spat out a few paltry words and swallowed back the moan that threatened to escape her chest. The witch before her had legs spread wide apart and a glistening slit on display for only her, for her to touch or feel or ignore as she saw fit. The wand held limply in her grip drew up as she dashed forward, whips and chains erupting from the tip until the startled Omega had been brought down off the chair and onto shining knees, palms unharried by work or hardship.

Pretty hands, a pretty body, in the perfect position for Bellatrix to do what they both wanted.

The wand in her hand released those leather bits, vanished all the remnants of the witch’s clothing and sent away her own. The tightly laced corset vanished from her torso, the dress ripped away and disappeared into nothingness, her boots fell to ash and dust as she fell down a few centimetres onto suddenly bare feet. The carpeting was stiff beneath her feet and she knew this would be harsh upon her knees but that was not her worry.

No, the harshness would not matter to her. The loss of clothing meant nothing, not when she could easily call it all back once she was done.

What mattered was an Omega, on her hands and knees, willing and ready to receive her.

“Oh fucking Hell, please, please-”

Bellatrix chuckled lowly as the Omega continued to express her want, kneeling down behind her and slipping a well-practised hand between now shivering thighs. Her action was rewarded with a slick and sodden heat that clung to burning folds covered up above in the barest hint of stubble.

Didn’t matter. There was no reason for her to care, not with her cock now out and standing to attention as she fought back an all-encompassing flash of heat and arousal from her mind. She would fail eventually, would succumb to her inner beast and find she could no more control herself than a bird could keep from flying but for now she would enjoy this. Would remain lucid even as her inner self screamed for her to  _ fuck _ and to  _ claim _ and to  _ take. _

In the end that was all that mattered. It was really all that she wanted, had wanted ever since her first night out of Azkaban. Hands fell down on pretty thighs and warm skin goosepimpled beneath her touch. The Omega leaned back into her with as blatant of a moan as she could utter, a lip bitten between pearly teeth and eyes so low that Bellatrix could barely see her as she twisted forward and around.

The witch was gorgeous, and Bellatrix found herself lost.

So many years had passed her by since the last time she had truly rutted, since the last moment she had found herself sequestered with a willing Omega and nothing at all to do except fuck the girl for all that she was worth. So much time lost, and such a blinding need to make up for all those missed moments.

“What’s your name, Pet?” Bellatrix groused out the words, her hand sliding forward along a dipping back to grab at the tuft of auburn hair. She rocked herself backwards, pulled and lifted until she had slotted herself right below where both of them wanted her to be.

The witch moaned something, low and heady, rising as she pushed herself back to grind and slide in ways that left Bellatrix panting out her need.

“Hermione, I’m Hermione.” The panted reply was just as nearly breathless as Bellatrix felt, a biting rush of air that found itself capped off by a low purr of agreement towards Bellatrix’s rhythmic movements.

Hermione. Bellatrix rolled the word around in her head, liked the taste of it on her lips and commanded it to remain permanent in the back of her skull. It conjured images of a princess, images of ancient beauty.

Bellatrix quite liked the image spread before her more, no matter the arrangement.

She liked the flush of heat as it coursed its way through her veins, she liked the delicious smell that dripped from Hermione’s legs, liked the feeling of her hand now slick with wetness and the pulsing ache deep within her length. She liked that slick, that wet, that floundering gasp tugged from Hermoine’s throat as she pushed herself back, forward, landed home and filled up that vice of flesh. Gods but the witch was tight, tight and so very warm. Burning and clenching back down on her with a barely restrained need that swept away all else. She knew what she wanted, knew what Hermione wanted, knew that she should waste no time in bucking out a rhythm to leave them both panting.

So she didn’t.

Sweat peppered her brow, her cheeks and neck, covered her swiftly from breast to calves. The sheen was intermingled with Hermione, it swept up both their scents and melded until she could find no distinction between the two, could only sense them both. Instinct rose up to comfort and control her, overpowered all her lack of practice until whatever lack of comfort she had been suffering was gone and replaced with mewling growls, deep purrs, a perfect tune to their rather frantic coupling.

_ She _ wanted this.

_ Hermione _ wanted this.

They _both_ ** _wanted._** So they took. Let their bodies take over, let their cores instruct their movement, dropped down low into a haze of red that barely masked their frenzied motion. She raked her nails against Hermione’s back in a single long stroke that left bronze skin raised and red, streaks that were laid out of a feeling of _ownership_ more than a desire to simply move her hands.

She wanted this, and more. Wanted to try,  _ would _ try, if all things worked out in the end. She didn’t really know who this witch was, she could recognize a portion of the name but not what it connected to, and so gave it no true thought. Obvioiusly she was just a worker, likely someone who had remained late after all her colleagues left for home and now was paying the price. Young, inexperienced in the ways of her body, stuck beneath the tender flames of her first true heat.

Bellatrix, in contrast, was not fresh to this. She was not new, she was not untested, and she knew exactly what she needed to do for the keening Omega. She knew how to drag their moments out, she knew how to move with speed and driving force, and she knew how best to slow herself down. She knew how to lean forward, let her breasts drag against soft skin and the hardened muscles that flanked Hermione’s spine. She knew to let a hand wander under and forward until her palm was flush against the witch’s stomach, pinpricks of pain embedded into soft flesh and needy skin.

Those pinpricks turned to dragging flesh, to blood welling up and dripping to the carpet. True and proper cuts made their appearance, made their presence known. She liked it, Hermione didn’t seem to mind the pain at all, and soon enough the witch’s back was marked up much the same. Patterns and lines, whirling circles and curving loops. Nearing the end, a beginning, a burst of magma that seemed to settle low into her belly.

A strong heat, low warmth, a pit of lava stoking itself towards something ungainly and harsh. Her mind finally fled, her thoughts along with it as she became nothing more than a vessel for her magic. Filled to the brim with something that needed  _ out, _ something that fought to use Hermione as its receptacle. 

She knew it was coming. Even the witch below her seemed to understand that something was about to happen, even if she was new to this situation. Bellatrix would show her, inform her, fill her up with knowledge and something more.

She was, after all, a Black. A Lestrange second, and an Alpha above all else.

She howled, well and truly  _ howled, _ pulled Hermione up and back from her hands until she could cradle that body before her. She felt that knot of flesh between her legs stiffen further, lock itself as it fulfilled the purpose Magic had imbued it with. She was locked, well and truly stuck against the Omega. Her thrusts were turned into small and jerking motions that brought little movement even as she neared the ending of her rut.

Neared, and then leapt over the edge. Liquid heat poured forth into her chosen mate, just as she bit down against the hollow of Hermione’s neck. The space was ripe for the taking, and Bellatrix was no longer thinking of anything at all except that she must please the writhing Omega in her grasp.

She came, bit down, felt the iron coat her tongue and throat as she forced herself to complete that ancient motion. She was well and truly locked down by Hermione’s body, secure in her grasp and stuck without anything but the barest portion of reality to peak on through. The body in her hold was hitching its breath in surprise, delight, some twisted semblance of both even as Hermione forced them into an awkward position.

Pain assaulted Bellatrix’s groin as Hermione moved to twist around. Nothing but a truly powerful separation spell would unlock them and even that would end in pain addled anger. Bellatrix growled lowly in response to the movement, her throat guttural as she threatened Hermoine’s sudden change of position in the easiest way that she could. Still Hermione moved, completed her turn and purred for all she was worth while settling against Bellatrix’s chest as much as she could.

And then the witch bit down upon Bellatrix’s throat.

A marking.  _ She was being claimed. _

Bellatrix had never once been marked before, not even after marriage. The union between herself and Rodolphus was business at its best, and as both were Alpha’s neither would allow the other to find purchase. Political standing was what ruled their positioning, and never once had they even shared a bed. It was a surprise that Hermione seemed to want her. Or rather it was a surprise so long as she thought about it with her rational mind. Hermione clearly wasn’t being rational, clearly hadn’t come out of the heat-state that her instincts forced upon her.

Then again, she herself was  _ still _ not thinking rationally about any of this.

She had abandoned her mission for this Omega, had abandoned what her Master wanted, abandoned the hunt-

All the worry clouding her mind was washed away when Hermione drew away. Their bonding was completed, their cores crackling as one and mirroring the imprint laid upon them. Oh, there could always be another added to their core, another bite laid upon their neck if they so wished it. But that would be for the future, and for now they were tired in destiny and in blood.

Mated, for whatever good or ill would come. 

How exactly had she let this happen again? They were locked, body and soul. She was stuck to this little slip of a witch, on her knees in the Ministry and naked while all her comrades fought a battle that she was currently only  _ hoping _ had begun. 

She had fucked this up royally.

“Pet, what’s your full name?” Bellatrix wasn’t quite certain what prompted that question other than a sudden and needful desire to know the woman that had chosen her as a mate. If Hermione hadn’t turned around to complete that bond she would have been able to fade from memory. Knock the witch out, let the mark fade. They could have both left here, separated and alone. 

It could have been forgotten.

Not now, not anymore. Not with both of them dribbling blood down their chests and not with Bellatrix still stiff and rigid.

“Granger,” Hermione panted out against her chest, little nips accompanying the confession. “Hermione Granger. And you?”

Granger.  _ Granger. _ Where had she heard that name before? Granger. It was familiar and it was not, somewhere on the tip of her tongue and missing in the silence that stretched between them. They were stuck in the lull that existed before Hermione’s heat would return, their bodies joined together and sated for just the moment. Bellatrix  _ finally _ had a cleared head, for the first moment since she had twisted that doorknob and entered.

_ Granger- _

Oh.  _ That _ was interesting. A name in a dossier, a name written upon a page that had been accompanied by a picture that she was sure now had been old. A list of those they were to seek out and capture if at all possible.

A mate.

_ Her mate. _

Bellatrix knew that she had most certainly fucked up whatever attempt had existed to bring the boy back to her Master. She knew that prize was well and truly gone, but perhaps she hadn’t  _ completely _ made it all go tits up.

“Oh Pet,” Bellatrix crooned, a hand wrapping around the witch as she settled into the contented purring emanating from Hermione’s chest. “I’m Bellatrix, Bellatrix Lestrange. Though I suppose you can call me Black, seeing as I’ll need a divorce now. And you’re coming with me.”

Hermione only managed to release a quick squeak of surprise before Bellatrix threw herself into apparating away, a sudden opening of her eyes as what Bellatrix had said finally hit her.

And then they were gone.


End file.
